I think I am worthwhile just because I have optical nerves and can try to put down what they perceive. What a… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
Apparently, the most difficult feat for a Cambridge male is to accept a woman not merely as feeling, not merely as thinking,… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I’d discovered, after a lot of extreme apprehension about what spoons to use, that if you do something incorrect at table with… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I do feel that now and I feel that this development of recording poems, of speaking poems at readings, of having records… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
If you have no past or no future, which, after all, is all that the present is made of, why then you… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
..I fancied you'd return the way you said, But I grow old and I forget your name. (I think I made you… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I find myself absolutely fulfilled when I have written a poem, when I'm writing one. Having written one, then you fall away… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I think that as far as language goes I'm an American, I'm afraid, my accent is American, my way of talk is… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
... you looked around and saw everybody either married or busy and happy and thinking and being creative, and you felt scared,… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I think my poems immediately come out of the sensuous and emotional experiences I have, but I must say I cannot sympathise… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I think that personal experience is very important, but certainly it shouldn't be a kind of shut-box and mirror-looking, narcissistic experience. I… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I have this demon who wants me to run away screaming if I am going to be flawed, fallible. It wants me… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
Is to throw together events from my own life, fictionalizing to add color—it’s a pot boiler really, but I think it will… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
So much working, reading, thinking, living to do. A lifetime is not long enough. Nor youth to old age long enough. Immortality… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
Ironically, Henry James' biography comforts me & I long to make known to him his posthumous reputation he wrote, in pain, gave… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I am afraid of getting older … I am afraid of getting married. Spare me from cooking three meals a day—spare me… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
I want to taste and glory in each day, and never be afraid to experience pain; and never shut myself up in… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share Image
“It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenbergs, and I didn't know what I was doing in New York.” — Sylvia Plath Copy Share
... These are my hands My knees. I may be skin and bone, Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman. ... --Lady Lazarus — Sylvia Plath Copy Share
Sure, I’m dramatic and sloppily semi-cynical and semi-sentimental. But, in leisure years I could grow and choose my way. Now I am living on… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share
“People were made of nothing so much as dust, and I couldn't see that doctoring all that dust was a bit better than writing… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share
“I couldn't stand the idea of a woman having to have a single pure life and a man being able to have a double… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share
I saw the gooseflesh on my skin. I did not know what made it. I was not cold. Had a ghost passed over? No,… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share
“The city had faded my tan, though. I looked yellow as a Chinaman. Ordinarily, I would have been nervous about my dress and my… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share
A million years of evolution, Eric said bitterly, and what are we? Animals. — Sylvia Plath Copy Share
“I have stitched life into me like a rare organ --from "Three Women: A Poem for Three Voices", written 1962” — Sylvia Plath Copy Share
“Flute Notes from a Reedy Pond" Now coldness comes sifting down, layer after layer, To our bower at the lily root. Overhead the old… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share
“The most saddening thing is to admit that I am not in love. I can only love (if that means self denial - or… — Sylvia Plath Copy Share
